


is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Pining, RebelCaptain Secret Santa Exchange, and maybe a smidge of the other thing, you know porn without plot? this is pining without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: Cassian expected to die on Scarif. He foresaw death and perhaps the Rebellion’s best chance, not life and victory.But he did not die. And now was faced with strange, sometimes onerous task of picking up the pieces of his life and rearranging them into something that fit all the new parts of it.Mainly, Jyn.





	is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sempaiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempaiko/gifts).



> for the lovely sempaiko, whose prompt was "pining. straight up pining with a little bit of smut." this is two days late, so I hope they forgive me. and I hope I did it justice.

Cassian expected to die on Scarif. He foresaw death and perhaps the Rebellion’s best chance, not life and victory. 

But he did not die. And now was faced with strange, sometimes onerous task of picking up the pieces of his life and rearranging them into something that fit all the new parts of it. 

Mainly, Jyn.

She hadn’t left. 

He still expected it, sometimes. For her to vanish. Pack up a ship and head out, get on the hunk of junk Solo called a ship and vanish like so much stardust. She’d earned whatever peace could be carved out from the galaxy. He couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t,  _ begrudge her that. But every time he saw her, standing with Bodhi, or the Guardians, or the Pathfinders, cautiously accepting their approval or their teasing, a tiny smile tugging on the corner of her mouth--it felt like an unlooked for gift, an undeserved blessing.  

Sometimes it felt like it must be  _ obvious.  _ That there had to be a giant neon sign on his forehead:  _ Here is Captain Cassian Andor, rebel spy, leader of Rogue One and in love with Jyn Erso.  _ Because it felt like every move, every breath, every glance in her direction--he might as well announce it for all the galaxy to hear. 

But he did not. Because that would be...wrong. And dangerous, probably. Jyn wouldn’t like it, of that much he was certain. In this strange new life where he survived things like Death Stars and Scarif and having a new team to work with, he found himself focusing more and more on what Jyn would or wouldn’t like. 

Which was turning out to be a bit of list. 

He would list them in his head sometimes, the things he knew for a fact that Jyn liked, because it kept his mind from sliding into darker places, and it was enjoyable, to consider Jyn in all ways. She liked: quiet spaces, but not dark ones, sweets and fresh bread from other planets or systems, he made the  _ pan dulce  _ he remembered from his childhood on Fest for her once and she’d demolished all five of the sweet rolls. Knives and blades of all kinds-- _ antiques,  _ Kay would sniff when Cassian would haggle for a blade in the marketplace if he was on a mission without her, or convince the Rebellion’s quartermaster to see if she could find something in their stores. Cassian ignored it, and thought of the smile of Jyn’s face, startled and pleased, when she found a new blade tucked away in her bag or resting on her footlocker in her quarters that he would leave for her. She liked savory things for meals and she drank the paint thinner masquerading as alcohol along with everyone else in the Rebellion, but poured half a container of sugar in whatever caf they could scrounge up. 

She  _ didn’t  _ like to be picked up, or hugged from behind; Wedge Antilles learned this the hard way after a victory, he was still nursing a near broken nose the last time Cassian saw him. She tolerated it from Baze usually, and Bodhi or Chirrut were the only two people allowed to lean on her without impunity. She liked puzzles and codes and programs; was alarmingly good at running holonet cons, gleefully cheating Imperials out of their money and intelligence in a variety of creative ways, she could pilot if needed, but preferred to be on the guns--

Cassian would run out of things to list eventually, much to his own displeasure, he and Jyn were still learning to have conversations that weren’t stilted, or ended in pained, awkward silences, or worse, rigid with unspoken conflict. They were--

Well, if he was being honest, he didn’t  _ know  _ what they were. Allies, partners, each other’s seconds-- _ friends  _ didn’t encompass it. 

_ Friends  _ didn’t want to curl themselves around each other at night against the chill of Hoth, and learn every way they breathed as they slept.  _ Friends  _ didn’t have dreams of sharp, clever green eyes and sharper grins, of battle-scarred and calloused hands on their body.  _ Friends  _ didn’t hoard every smile, every look, every raised in determination chin directed at themselves, or someone else. 

_ Friends  _ were not in love with other friends.

At least, he was pretty sure about that. What the hell did he know? Until recently, his best friend had been a reprogrammed Imperial droid with little to no filter. He was fiercely, deeply fond of Kay and would commit no small number of crimes to get him back if taken or see him safe--but for Jyn, he found himself thinking he would burn down the Rebellion, tear apart the Empire, if that’s what it took to keep her with him. 

These were not good or safe thoughts to have for an intelligence agent, a captain of the Rebellion, or the leader of Rogue One--but there you were. There was no changing it now, not that he even wanted to.

* * *

 

It was cold on Hoth. 

Obviously. Bitterly. Horrendously. Fest had been cold, ice-ridden and dark--but nothing like this monotonous misery. Power was shaky at best and layers and covers were ferociously coveted. More than once Han Solo had done a smuggling run and brought back fairly decent hooch and blankets--which the Council turned a blind eye to because he hadn’t been officially  _ cleared  _ to run those missions, and everyone else wanted to hand him another damn medal. Cassian was vaguely surprised Solo hadn’t melted down or sold the one the Princess had presented to him on Yavin, but Solo slung it over the console of the  _ Falcon _ and it became something of a good luck charm. 

Jyn had accompanied Solo on some of those missions. She brought other things back besides booze and blankets: tea for Chirrut, ammo for Baze, gloves for Bodhi. For him, information and droid pieces. Sometimes it felt like receiving the strangest possible mating gifts, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Up to his elbows (whatever he can bare to the freezing cold air of the mechanics bay) in droid parts, Jyn handed him tools, pieces, leaning over his shoulder sometimes to peer into the guts of the newest acquisition and make commentary--and Cassian hoped to the Force that she thought the shiver that ran through him every time she touched him was due to the cold. Not her nearness. Or her warmth. The feeling of her hair drifting against his cheek like the lightest touch of feathers. No, none of those things. Just the perpetual chill settling into his bones, every time she leaned away from him.

* * *

 

Jyn tried to pretend being so close to Cassian didn’t affect her, mean anything, or bother her in the slightest.

It was a lie, of course, but Jyn was nothing if not an accomplished liar. But then, so was Cassian, so sometimes she wondered just where that put them. Two liars, a thief and a spy, trying to carve out something real for themselves in the midst of war.

She had spent nearly ten years of her life refusing to rely on anyone, and now here she was, having a team, a cause, a side to fight for. The Rebellion itself she was not as strongly tied to as Cassian was, but _the_ _cause_ though--bringing down the Empire, restoring hope to the galaxy--alright, she could pledge herself to that. And being with Cassian. That was more important.

It was thoughts like these that made her realize how much had  _ changed  _ for her since Scarif, being with Rogue One, going on missions with the Pathfinders, occasionally doing smuggling runs with Han. She wasn’t  _ alone  _ anymore. She didn’t  _ have  _ to sleep with a blaster under her pillow, and while she usually did, it was because she  _ decided _ to, not because she  _ had  _ to, and  _ that’s  _ what mattered. Being able to choose. 

And usually, she would choose to be with Cassian. 

Sometimes the voice of Saw would mutter or growl in her head,  _ dangerous, weakness, keep your guard  _ up  _ child, have I taught you nothing?  _ Sometimes Jyn would tell the voice of Saw,  _ kriff off you paranoid old bastard, you’re  _ dead. Other times she would simply hear it, and let it go, because Saw had been so many things to her--mentor, parent, protector, general--but he wasn’t here anymore. Cassian was here. He had not left her, abandoned her, he had  _ come back,  _ and Jyn--

Jyn wanted him. She tried to tell herself she wanted him because he was reliable, trustworthy, a good partner, he watched her back better than anyone she’d ever had before--and those things were true! But  _ partners  _ generally didn’t daydream about soft, clever mouths and calloused, clever hands on each other’s skin.  _ Partners  _ didn’t think about curling up the other’s bed and taking refuge in the warmth, or against their chest.  _ Partners  _ didn’t imagine what it might be like to have all the focus and concentration and intent solely focused on them. And what it might sound like if their partner said their name, breathless and soft and longing, or growled it low and fierce in their ear. 

At least, she was pretty sure about that.

If it had been based on purely  _ physical  _ wanting, then Jyn might’ve been okay. She could control her body’s yearnings and desires, had enough practice doing  _ that  _ most of her life. As long as  _ feelings  _ didn’t get in the way of it, she could have managed just fine. 

But feelings for Cassian were bound up in wanting, wanting and needing and desiring, because at her core, Jyn knew herself for what she was--a survivor, a fighter, a thief who coveted the smiles and glances of a spy. 

It went way beyond  _ stupid  _ and straight into  _ how are you alive right now Erso? _ No one with  _ sense  _ wanted to develop feelings for a spy, a professional, casual liar, a devoted Rebel Intelligence captain. No one was  _ that  _ stupid. 

Except for her, apparently. 

She brought back droid parts for him, pretending that she hadn’t gone through great personal expense and risk to bring back the  _ one specific piece  _ he needed for a new upgrade. Pretending she didn’t do it to see him smile, soft and quick and gone as quick as summer lightning on Lah’mu and directed at her, all for her.

* * *

 

He dreamed about her, sometimes.

The cold often brought about strange dreams, mixed in memories, some of them good, some (most of them) bad. But the dreams about Jyn were something new. 

In his dreams, sometimes she would lay besides him and smile, eyes soft and gentle, her mouth a rich curve of promise. In some dreams, they wouldn’t even touch, but he tracked every one of her features greedily, imprinting each one of them into his memory. In other dreams, she would be above him, smiling sharp and fierce and possessive, knees on either side of his hips, hands braced on his shoulders.  _ Please,  _ he said in the dreams, not entirely sure what he was asking for, but wanting it so badly he thought he would die from it.

In other dreams, she’d be under him, saying his name, sighing and moaning and arching up into him, lips parted and eyes half shut, her hair the galaxy spread across the pillow. He would still beg in those dreams too, for her to tell him what she wanted, what she wanted him to do, that he wanted to be good for her, so good, to let him just  _ have  _ her, just for a little while. 

He would wake up from those dreams gasping and sweating despite the chill of Hoth, and so hard it hurt from it--but better those dreams every night than the ones where he would wake up  _ sure  _ that he had died on Scarif, that he watched Jyn fall from the tower, or vanish into scalding golden light, or even worse, lying on the ground in the pouring rain before him, dead by his own hand, with the voices of his own ghosts in his ears. Those dreams were not the ones he wanted to remember.

If things were different and Jyn slept besides him, he wondered, would that make the dreams better--or worse?

* * *

 

She would dream about him, sometimes. Arms around her waist from behind, a source of warmth. Soft breathing that was not her own ruffling her hair, tickling the back of her neck. Simple dreams, easy ones. Better than the ones where he would be on the other side of the door of the bunker Saw left her in, where he was the one shutting the door on her, or worse, falling down the archive tower at Scarif, and never getting back up. 

There were other dreams--ones that teased the edge of her memory as she woke up, lingered in her head, where Cassian would take her battered hands, kiss the scars on her knuckles and ribs and belly, stroke her spine and murmur words like _“beautiful.”_ Or the ones where he would kneel at her feet and look up at her with those absurd eyes of his, deep and dark as galaxies and the spaces between planets and warm as two suns, and say impossible things like, _“Jyn, please, let me--”_

Those dreams left her empty and wanting and  _ aching,  _ because it was what she couldn’t have, what she shouldn’t even waste time  _ thinking  _ about because  _ they were in the middle of a war here, for Force’s sake, Erso, get a grip, would you?  _ Now, of all times, was not the time to be mooning over her partner, her captain, and waking up wet and empty and desperate for something.

Hell if that didn’t stop her, though.

* * *

 

Finally, all this circling and wondering and pining came to an screeching halt when the heat and power died an abrupt and ignoble death, causing a mass scramble for partnering up in quarters, so no one froze to death in the night. Cassian, loath to put any more work on the poor quartermaster than she already had, simply resigned himself to having any random being bunking with him for the forseeable future.

It was probably a bad thing to think such things, much less say them aloud. The old ones used to say in response to badly thought out plans,  _ “and the Force laughs,”  _ and Cassian couldn’t help but think that was what the Force did to him sometimes, took one look at him and  _ laughed.  _ Because Jyn appeared at the door to his quarters after the power died, with a mulish expression, one stubbornly determined to stomp out any awkward that existed. 

He didn’t even argue, just let her in and let her dump her go bag on the floor, watched as she spun around and faced him, arms crossed across her chest, a defensive scowl on her face, already prepared to argue with him about it. He shouldn’t feel so fond at the sight of her scowl, he thought vaguely. Not a good sign.

“You can pick your side of the bed,” he told her before she could start. Her shoulders rose, stiffened, then deflated as she realized she wasn’t even going to get a chance to bicker with him about it. 

“Fine,” she said instead, and used her foot to shove her go bag next to his, in the small space that fit it perfectly, it hadn’t been intentional, it  _ wasn’t-- _ “Do you want the ‘fresher first?”

“You can have it,” he assured her and she gave him another slight scowl, as if this displeased her. 

“You should use it if you need it,” she insisted and Cassian fought back a sigh. 

“But I don’t right now,” he said, automatically adopting the patient tone he used with twitchy or erratic informants. “Jyn, it’s fine. Truly.”

She gave him another suspicious look, but let it go. “I’ll be quick.”

She vanished into the tiny ‘fresher off his room and Cassian busied himself doing entirely unnecessary and aimless tasks mostly meant to keep his mind from wandering to Jyn in the ‘fresher, Jyn in his bed, warm and smelling of soap and soft skin--

He slammed the airlock down on  _ that  _ thought as quickly as he could; hot water was a finite resource and more likely he would be trying to figure out the ways he would have to configure his pillow to accommodate the blaster she’d put under it.

She  _ would  _ be warm though. Jyn always seemed to run five degrees hotter than the average sentient, just lying next to her would be enough to bring feeling back into his toes, and fingers, and that was another thought he had to put a stop to; the notion of Jyn warming his cold hands--

Cassian very methodically and deliberately shut down the data pad he was staring blindly at and put it down. He got into the thermal pajamas he’d managed to get off planet and took a moment to thank the Force he’d also managed to acquire a pair for Jyn. 

He’d got the covers back when Jyn came out, flushed and her hair out of her customary bun for once; the informality of it almost shocked him, the softness of her face with the dark waves. “Do you want the right or the left?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, his eyes steady on hers. 

“The left,” she said and eyed him carefully. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s fine, Jyn,” he said again, having the distinct feeling he would probably be saying it over and over again. “Do you want to come to bed now, or later?”

The intimacy of the question made his gut clench; the kind of question a lover would ask, or a husband ( _ stop it Andor, for Force’s sake,  _ get a grip)--

“Now is fine,” Jyn said and without further ado promptly climbed into bed, placing her back firmly against the wall. “Come on, Cassian. It’s too cold to stand out here.”

He got into bed after her; he had been right, she was like a furnace against his back and the usually harsh smelling soap was strangely softened in her hair. Jyn didn’t bother with formalities, she simply turned over and pressed herself into his back, into his blindspot and it didn’t put every nerve on edge as it should have.

“This okay?” she asked softly into the strange dim.

“This is fine,” he whispered back, and the word fit better on his tongue than he thought it would.

* * *

 

The power and heat eventually returned, and everyone nearly gave the mechanics a medal, but Jyn did not return to her original quarters. She had shared a room with three other women, and while they had all been nice and polite, Jyn wasn’t anxious to return. Sharing a bed with Cassian meant warmth, quiet, respite. It meant someone she trusted implicitly between her and the door, a wall against the cold and the dark. 

It meant sometimes she woke up with him pressed against her back, arms around her waist and...okay, yes, his...(oh Force, what was she, a delicately-reared Core girl?)  _ hardness _ against her rear. 

He’d been a gentleman about it, thought--as much as gentleman as anyone  _ could  _ be under somewhat mortifying circumstances--and politely pretended it wasn’t there, and she let him have the ‘fresher first. And she pretended  _ very hard  _ that she had no idea what he was doing in there. Although she did have a pretty good idea. A fairly solid one. A pretty--alright, time to stop now. 

She didn’t leave, though. She didn’t  _ want  _ to. Because it meant leaving warmth, safety, respite--

It meant leaving Cassian. And Jyn had had enough of leaving.

So she stayed. And if at night she entertained thoughts of turning his arms, finding his mouth in the dark, coaxing soft, urgent sounds from him and learning what he liked--well, she kept it to herself.

* * *

 

Jyn was still in his bed. 

Not--not in  _ that way,  _ but the heat and power had since returned and she hadn’t left, she stayed, and Cassian had gotten accustomed to the reality of her  _ being there,  _ of coming to a bed already warm, waking up with her hair tickling his face, her soft, generous mouth inches from his own. He’d gotten comfortable with it. Grown to expect it, rely on it,  _ want  _ it--

_ Foolishness _ , the spy in his head would mutter.  _ Softness. A good way to get yourself killed-- _ but it had grown easier, as of late, to banish the voice of the spy when Jyn was sleeping in his bed, besides him.

What was more difficult was the awkward moments when he’d wake up twined around her like ivy along ruins, and realize his...er, morning biology (oh Force, he had spent  _ far  _ too much time with Kay during his formative years) was incredibly obvious to them both. They had settled on a mutual, unspoken agreement to pretend it didn’t exist in the mornings and Jyn let him have the ‘fresher first. 

There were mornings, though, that he would wake up entangled with Jyn and see her slowly drift into wakefulness, green stardust opening and closing, and he would catch himself thinking absurd, impossible things like,  _ I want this, I want you, for always, for as long as you’ll have me, I lay my throat bare to you and I want your lips and your mouth and your teeth, I trust you-- _

And then he would wake up fully and very politely disentangle himself from her. And wait for nightfall and light’s out.

* * *

 

In the depths of the night, the coldest one yet, which was  _ ridiculous, _ but there you were, Jyn woke up to Cassian’s face buried in her neck and one hand resting right under her heart, and she thought,  _ kriff it, screw it, I want this, I want him, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.  _

She wouldn’t wake him, though. Force knew he needed whatever restful sleep he could get, so instead she turned in his arms, threw one leg over his hip, and in his sleep, Cassian drew her closer with a sleepy murmur.

Her hips fit so perfectly into his. All the lean, wiry strength sheltering her. Jyn closed her eyes in the darkness and smiled.

* * *

 

Cassian opened his eyes to the dim light that constituted for  _ dawn _ for Echo Base and woke up entwined with Jyn, so fully and completely there was no way he could disentangle himself without waking her--

How did her leg get over his hip? How had he not woken? Why was  _ now  _ the time to notice how perfectly she fit into him, how easy it would be to wake up like this all the time, why this felt like homecoming and shelter--

Cassian closed his eyes. If it was a dream, he wanted to stay in it. 

Jyn stirred in his arms, slow, and he more felt than heard her still half-asleep murmur, “Cass…?”

He hummed, eyes still shut. 

“I know you’re awake,” she murmured, shifting closer. “I can hear you thinking.”

He did his best to replicate a sleepy noise and Jyn’s muffled breath of laughter stirred his skin. “Are you planning on getting up anytime soon?”

_ I’m already up, _ his less-than-noble, opportunistic self replied and Cassian kept his eyes willfully closed. “Hmmm...?”

“Cass,” she said again, a bit more wakefully, “Cassian.”

“Mmm,” he murmured in response, and snuggled into her further. He wanted to see how far she would allow this. 

Jyn, never one to back down, sighed in his ear and slowly dragged one hand up the back of his neck, into his hair, making goosebumps break out over every inch of skin. “Cass,” she breathed right into his ear, “wake up.”

Force, he was going to die. He’d die happy, but still. “I’m up,” he rasped, felt another tremor of amusement go through her. “I’m up, Jyn.”

The softest of touches against his lips, his chin. He opened his eyes again. Jyn was smiling right into his face, her nails gently scraping across his scalp. “I can tell,” she said quietly, that smile lingering in the corners of her mouth. “Are you cold?”

Was he  _ cold?  _ “No,” he said hoarsely, trying not to breathe directly into her face. “But I could be warmer.”

That wasn’t smooth  _ at all,  _ but the smile still teased the corners of Jyn’s mouth, her eyes soft and questioning. “Want some help with that?”

_ Yes, yes, yes,  _ please… “If you want,” he whispered, offering her a way out, if she needed it, if she wanted it, he would never trap her if he could help it, never… “Only if you want, Jyn.”

The smallest of eye rolls, somehow affectionate. “Cassian,” she admonished gently, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want.”

“Then yes,” he said, handing over whatever pieces she wanted of him, “ _ please. _ ”

* * *

 

_ Such a lovely word _ , Jyn thought dreamily, letting herself get even closer to Cassian. Such a lovely word coming from him.

The morning wake up call was still far away. She could put that time to good use. 

She kissed his eyelids first, the lightest of brushes. His eyelashes tickled her lips. Then the bridge of his nose, the bump that made it charmingly off center, then upwards, between his eyebrows. Cassian was very still underneath her, as if any sudden move might convince her to stop. Jyn continued, his forehead, his temple, under his ear, a spot that made him shiver, one she noted for future reference. His jaw next, the place that moved when he swallowed. His chin, the very corner of his mouth. Cassian was so still beneath her she could feel the very minute vibrations running through him, the effort it took to keep still.

She took his mouth then, soft at first, letting their lips adjust to each other, trying to find a good position, a good angle. But Cassian made the smallest of sounds at the back of his throat, a noise like a whimper, and Jyn felt her patience go up in flames. 

She kissed him firmly, the hand in his hair clenching hard, the heat underneath the covers going up like flares in the night. Cassian abruptly wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled onto his back, letting her be on top, letting her control the pace and depth of the kiss. Which Jyn appreciated and took full, ruthless advantage of. 

They couldn’t  _ do  _ much in this tiny, standard issue bunk barely meant for two beings of average size--but they  _ could _ kiss, until Jyn’s mouth went numb, until Cassian was panting and breathless under her, and the heat between them felt tropical. 

“I--hate--Hoth,” Cassian said in between kisses, Jyn’s knees settling on either side of his hips. “When we--get assigned--to a  _ temperate _ planet--”

“I’m going to fuck you into next week,” Jyn promised, delighting in the frantic, desperate sound Cassian made against her mouth. “Would you like that?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Cassian gasped, almost shaking underneath her, “Jyn,  _ please.” _

_ Such a lovely word _ , Jyn thought, swallowing it greedily.

* * *

 

He hadn’t been joking or trying to ease the moment when he said he hated Hoth, he  _ absolutely  _ hated it, hated anything that kept him from pulling away each piece of her thermals, from feeling soft skin and strong muscles underneath his hands, from feeling warmth to hot to  _ heat  _ around him--

Jyn sighed into his mouth and he tilted his head back, gasping, exposing his throat to her eager mouth and teeth, her hands sneaking up the hem of his thermal shirt, tracing his abdomen, his ribs, his chest--

The lights overhead grew brighter, the wake up call for the Rebellion to get up, get moving, keep doing the business of fighting the snow, the cold, the Empire. Jyn practically snarled, pulling back a little from him and glaring up at the lights like she was going to fight them personally. 

“We have time,” Cassian whispered to her, regaining her attention. “We have tonight, and the next night and the night after that...”

For as many nights as they could steal. 

Jyn’s nose scrunched, her lips pursed. “I don’t think I can wait until tonight,” she murmured, shifting over him, rubbing herself against his hardness as he bit back a whimper. “Just let me--let me do this. Let me do this and then we can--we can come back to it, we can  _ keep  _ doing this, later, but I want to--I want to give you something good. Please, Cass.”

He must have made some kind of noise, some groan of assent, because Jyn’s hand slid into his sleeping pants, stroking the skin of his groin gently, never taking her eyes off his face. Still, she didn’t move lower. “Cass, I need you to tell me,” she whispered, urgency making itself known. Sooner or later, they needed to get up, leave this tiny warm sanctuary--

“Yes,” he croaked out, “yes, Jyn, please.”

Jyn’s hand was small but strong, the palm hot and calloused, but it felt  _ so good,  _ wonderful against him. She smeared leaking wetness around him, watching his face intently, noting every turn or twist of her wrist that made him whimper or gasp, or beg for  _ more, more, more, please, please, por favor… _

“You’re killing me here,” he gasped, arching into her grip. 

“You’re never going to die,” Jyn said seriously, not relenting in the least. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“No, never, never,” Cassian said frantically, feeling his release start to build. “I won’t leave you, ever.”

“Cass,” Jyn whispered and took his mouth with hers again, swallowing his desperate cries and blanketing him with her body, covering his shudders. 

Cassian went limp and boneless underneath her, feebly returning her kisses and managing to run a hand up and down her back. “You’re going to kill me,” he repeated, and Jyn gently bit his lower lip. “I’ll die happy though.”

Jyn sighed and huddled on top of him, rubbing her cheek against the thermal top covering his chest. “I thought I made it clear you’re not allowed to die under any circumstances.”

“I’ll try,” he whispered, holding her a little tighter. “Jyn, you’ll know I’ll try.”

“I know,” she breathed into his heartbeat. “I know, Cass.”

Hoth was still Hoth. Bitterly cold and freezing. But here, wrapped in warmth and thinking of a future he could still steal, Cassian had never been warmer.            __

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's a Taylor Swift lyric. You can't judge me; I judge myself.


End file.
